


Ghost of Injuries Past

by Luthienberen



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Rathbone films)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 07:59:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12954819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthienberen/pseuds/Luthienberen
Summary: When Watson cannot chase their traitor any further, Holmes takes care of his good friend.





	Ghost of Injuries Past

**Author's Note:**

> **Content Warnings:** A little bit of angst, but a happy ending, not beta-read.  
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own the Basil Rathbone Sherlock Holmes.
> 
> **Word Count:** 1,333
> 
> I was too late to post this in response to the WAdvent Open Post Day 2, prompt “Snow”. It seemed a pity not to post it at all so here it is on A03. 
> 
> Basil Rathbone is a wonderful Sherlock Holmes and Nigel Bruce has found a place in my heart as Watson as well.

“Careful old chap!”

Holmes quickly grabbed Watson’s right elbow, stopping his friend from stepping on a dangerous patch of black ice that lay silent and wrathful on the recently shovelled road surface. Holmes’ keen eyes had nearly missed the ice until at the last moment he had seen the glimmer in the escaped light from a quickly opened and shut door.

Since the blackout had descended everyone was cautious about showing too much light so that only the faintest and fastest of glimmers were permitted as people entered and exited buildings. It had transformed London into an even more dangerous place at night.

Now, with freshly fallen snow and deadly ice, the streets were even more perilous for unwary travellers…or for an old war veteran with an old wound weakening one leg.

“I’m fine Holmes,” protested Watson with a mumble as the good doctor steadied himself with one gloved hand on Holmes’ arm. The other gripped his cane more tightly and sought purchase on the pavement through the layer of snow.

Holmes observed the pale tired features and the briefest flicker of pain in those eyes he knew so well. Under the fur hat and scarf wrapped tightly around neck, chin and even nose and moustache, Watson was harder to understand than normal.

Yet, Holmes could now make out the creases of pain scrunched at the corner of his friend’s eyes. Guilt washed through him. Watson was exhausted. A chase through snow after a suspected traitor, on top of a long gruelling week of checking pubs and back alleys, not to mention the hospital ward where Watson spent much of his time offering his services as a retired doctor, had left Watson diminished.

His pallor matched the fallen snow and his frame was slumped. Holmes could sense how much Watson struggled to conceal his desire to lean more fully on the detective’s arm.

“Oh Watson, what a fool I am! Some detective. I should have seen how tired you were and how cruel the week has been to your constitution.”

Holmes released his grip on Watson’s elbow to slip his arm through Watson’s, so his friend had greater support.

“You should have said old fellow.”

Watson shrugged, spirit defiant even through his paper-thin voice. “Can’t leave you be to yourself. Think of the dreadful trouble you would get yourself in.”

“Still, I should have left you by the fire with slippers and hot tea, not a chase through snow.”

“King and country!” protested Watson, yet his body betrayed him by how he now gratefully sought the succour of Holmes’ arm.

Determined that Watson shouldn’t suffer a moment longer than necessary, Holmes held on tightly and with his free hand added his own scarf to Watson’s ensemble. A trifle cold would not harm him. Watson was more important.

“The traitor can wait. I believe I can track him again without too much trouble. King and country shall not fall while I return you to our chambers.”

Holmes saw when Watson realised it was useless to argue and his friend flushed. The very light rouge in Watson’ cheeks was barely there, but better than his ghastly pallor. The colour went quickly, and Holmes felt his throat clench and heart beat faster.

Watson was his only friend, dearer than anyone, more dear than people would guess. Why had Watson struggled on when he was clearly done in? Had Watson really thought he wouldn’t care?

Suddenly, the thought occurred to Holmes that maybe even _Watson_ did not realise how dear he was to Holmes. Watson hadn’t been there when Moriarty had threatened Watson’s life and could not perceive all of Holmes’ thoughts.

He cursed his occasional moments of callousness towards Watson, unintended though they were, due to his eagerness to solve a case.

Such a travesty had to be rectified.

Inhaling sharply, Holmes smiled as brightly as he could while his body and mind were chilled by his conclusions.

“Now Watson, I would care for nothing more than you by my side, but we must return you before your leg and health are ruined.”

Holmes gently turned them about and trampled snow in front off them with great effort thanking God that he was tall and strong man, slender yet with a hidden strength that surprised many.

“But Holmes I can go back by myself.”

“Never Watson! Have you lost your senses?” Holmes was stunned by this ridiculous notion and glared at his friend then the pitiless dark sky as more snow began to come down.

“I will not lose you to my lacklustre observational skills.” Shuffling forward a few paces, Holmes risked a stop to talk to his worn-out companion.

“Forgive me Watson for I am not as free with my emotions as I should be.” Holmes hesitated, anxious to confess, yet conscious as they tumbled downwards, of the cold flakes touching his skin and that of Watson’s.

“You are my dearest friend and to ensure that I have you by my side for years to come you must return to the warmth of our home in Baker Street. There you will wait with all the comforts possible, while I bring this traitor to justice. Then I will ensure you recuperate as I listen to your admonishments on my tactics. What do you say old friend?”

Watson blinked back tears and swallowed heavily. His paper-thin voice was thicker as the ex-solider whispered, “Thank you Holmes. To know my friendship is returned in full…” The doctor stopped, too overcome to continue. He bowed his head to gather his composure, his hat covered lightly with snow.

Holmes heart thudded at the sight and relief that Watson understood in part at least. Once Watson raised his head and squeezed Holmes’ arm, Holmes started tugging them forward again.

“Then we are agreed?”

“Yes, as long as I can admonish you over a brandy as well as tea and pipe.”

“Oh, those are a must my dear fellow.”

Watson chuckled weakly, but protested no longer.

Feeling less anxious Holmes led them home through the white cloud descending around them, becoming eerily reminiscent of the old smog of London.

At least the traitor would be forced to wait out the latest snowfall granting them even more time to catch up with him, for Holmes knew Watson would be with him in spirit, if not flesh…as he always was when not immediately present.

Glancing to check on his friend, the detective discovered that the doctor was focusing entirely on putting cane and feet forward, completely surrendering himself to Holmes’ guidance as he did.

The implicit trust filled Holmes with affection.

People, mused Holmes, wondered why he tolerated the doctor who mumbled and bumbled a lot. They however, had not observed the real Watson. Yes, he mumbled and bumbled, but he also had flashes of great insight – why the business with the Spider Woman was one, Watson had identified the adult skeleton correctly where Holmes had gone wrong!

Frankly Watson was his balance in life – the good doctor’s compassion towards others, his kindness to Holmes even when undeserved, his patience for Holmes’ eccentricities with his experiments, disguises and violin playing, (which Holmes made up for by playing Watson’s favourites), were boons beyond the treasures in Aladdin’s cave. The times Watson thought him dead and the cool response when he realised the trick roused Holmes’ blood, making him guilty as he ought to be and proud that Watson was not a man easily pushed about.

The doctor had lit up Holmes’ life, granting him a courageous partner and friend who followed him with a lust for adventure into his investigations.

Yes, without Watson, Holmes would be lost.

So now when Watson was lost to pain and exhaustion, Holmes would ensure he would find his friend all the comforts needed to restore Watson to his good self.

With that promise warming his resolve, Holmes steered them home through the thick snow that obscured normal eyesight, but had allowed one bumbling detective to see and observe properly.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m still working on my voices for this version of Holmes and Watson so apologies if anything seemed off!


End file.
